And the Storm Raged
by Ayaia of the Moon
Summary: Poor Nephi. Poor Nephi's wife. They just aren't having a very good trip to the Promised Land. Stupid Laman. Tying Nephi to the mast. For a few days. That's not very nice. Complete. Oneshot. K Reviews appreciated!


She waited, just below the hatch, for some kind of clue that she wasn't about to be washed overboard the second she emerged from below, or more likely horsewhipped for daring to attempt what she was about to do.

But she couldn't let it continue.

He'd been tied there for three days. Almost four.

She opened the hatch and struggled into the tempestuous storm. She hurriedly shut it after her, knowing that the others below needed all of the warmth and dryness they could get; this storm was making everyone miserable, some more than others.

The wind raged so harshly against her that it left her winded; blind from the rain and gasping for breath. She wasn't sure how she found him, but she did. He was beyond soaked, of course. His head lolled from side to side with the pitching of the ship, and her heart wanted to stop beating, afraid he was already dead. He looked dead.

She crawled toward him. She was already freezing, and pretty wet herself, after only being exposed to the melee for a few minutes. She wanted to take comfort in the fact that she shared a tiny piece of the misery he'd endured for so long.

After the first day, she'd tried to go up, but they'd put something over the hatch to discourage anything of the sort. It had rolled away some time ago, probably lost to the sea, and she was trying again now, hopeful, since she'd crossed the deck without being seen.

When she reached him, she had to hold on to him to pull herself up from her crouched position, and in doing so, she nearly sobbed in relief. He opened his eyes to look at her.

"It's…it's not safe. Go below, with the others," he said wearily.

She did cry a little then, though it made little difference, as she had so much water coursing over her face. She kissed him—fleeting and barely there, as the ship rocked—and made her way around the mast to where his hands were tied.

His brothers had tied the knots well, though she knew they'd never sailed a day in their lives—they'd been landlocked and uninterested in learning the ways of the distant fishermen from the small seas near their homeland.

Her fingers were numb, and her hands shook, but she kept fumbling with the rope—she could see the swelling in his fingers, and the places where the ropes had cut into the flesh of his wrists. Her own numb hands were nothing compared to what his hands were feeling.

A large hand clamped around her arm, pulling her forcefully from the little leeway she was making with the ropes.

"What are you doing?"

The shout wasn't actually malicious; it was more of a necessity to be heard over the wind, but she thought the question a stupid one, anyway. She found herself in tears once more.

"Please release him," she said. She tried to be loud, but the wind took her breath, and it wasn't in her nature to raise her voice to a man. "You've punished him long enough. He'll die." Her desperation did at least make this last louder, as she let out a sob or two.

"I won't have him as my better! I'm firstborn! He will not rule over me!"

His shout was lost as a giant wave crashed on deck, the ship tipping ominously. She could hear shouts from above—trying in vain to give the boat direction with the tiller. She realized that they would all have drowned long ago if not for the efforts of her husband's elder brothers, putting all of their might into that tiller.

She was pushed forcefully back from where she'd come, her arm smarting from the way he'd gripped it.

"Get below! Don't come back up! It's not safe!"

It struck her how her husband had said the same thing, and she watched her brother-in-law's retreating figure as he climbed aft once more, back to his brothers, all of them putting their strength into keeping the ship from sinking.

"Go."

She looked up in surprise—her husband's voice had carried to her over the distance and the wind.

She retreated back to the cabins below, her failure stinging her.


End file.
